Apple Whiskey

How our ears do deceive us.

Rian dined at a fine restaurant, tonight. Quietly. In a booth that hid most all but the smoky lounge and the (rather new) Jazz band. It was a pleasurable dinner. Little hurry. Good food. The slight pause of Time one can sometimes slip into on a long summer evening.

The most interesting ttch was the creature in the booth behind Rian. Unseen, but such tones! Deep, harsh, warm and amused. Rian, forking up dinner, closed eyes with a smile and tried to imagine the face behind the voice.

"I talk a lot," he said to his companion. "And even more drunk. And this is GOOD apple whiskey."

His companion laughed.

"Very very sweet. Best thing I've had since moving from Seattle. God forsaken Spokane!"

As Rian wondered casually about apple whiskey, Deep Voice's guest asked him how he liked living out in Coville.

"Way out in the middle of nowhere!" Deep Voice groaned. "Emily ran over a porcupine just the other day. A porcupine. You can't imagine the number of quills!"

A pause. Rian imagined slurping of sweet whiskey and wondered why his companion sounded so bored. Surely such a rough, sexy voice demanded some listening enjoyment.

"I'm a city girl at heart!" Deep Voice said loudly, "That will never change. A city girl!"

Eyes suddenly wide, Rian squirmed a bit on leather, trying to tilt and see into the other booth. He certainly had self assurance, declaring himself a city girl in the middle of downtown Spokaloo.

"I told Emily to keep the car away from varmints! Mama, she said -"

As Rian was bemusedly pondering the courage of the Gay Male in an Arayan Steak house, he stood up.

Unfolding long legs, curved hips, a winnowed waist and a torso that might have made Norma Jean grow white with envy.

Not a he, afterall. But a middle-aged she with very feminine features and red curls. The flush of apple whiskey on her cheeks.

Rian did not know whether to have hysterics or fall postrate with shame, a stranger doing penance at this creature's feet.

Boxes, Rian. Boxes.